by Finn Gray
Rory shrugged. “Even if that’s true, there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
Cassidy remained silent for a long time. She lay there, a faraway look in her eyes.
Rory could just see her faint outline in the darkness—the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath. Her full lips. The dark hair that just beginning to grow back on her shaved scalp. She was pretty, but he couldn’t decide if he was attracted to her. He liked her and was keenly aware of her beauty. Hells, she was his best friend among the recruits. But there was something about her, a darkness bubbling beneath the surface that he didn’t fully understand. He remembered the snatch of conversation he’d overheard between her and Clancy. Could she be a Memnon? Surely not. She was his friend. But did that mean anything?
Finally, Cassidy spoke again.
“You know something, Plowboy? One day, the high are going to be brought low. I don’t know when or how, but there will come a day of reckoning.”
With that dark portent, she climbed down from the bunk and returned to her bed, leaving Rory alone with his thoughts. He’d joined the corps because he’d believed he could isolate himself from the outside world, but the world had a way of intruding.
Rory was shoveling down his morning meal, barely tasting the bland excuse for food, when Clancy strode into the mess hall. No one looked directly at the sergeant, each hoping they were not the target of his obvious ire. Red-faced, he stalked over to stand across the table from Rory.
“Recruit! My office!” He turned on his heel and strode away.
“Damn.” Rory drained his cup of weak, tepid coffee in three swallows. Rising from his seat, he held his plate up to his lips and scraped the rest of the scrambled eggs, or rather, the jaundiced-looking, salty protein mix the corps called eggs, into his mouth as he hurried to return his tray. That was why he didn’t see Marson stick out a foot to trip him.
Rory hit the floor hard. Pain shot through his legs and chest. He raised his head, egg literally and figuratively on his face, to see the grinning visages of his fellow recruits. He sprang to his feet, fists clenched.
Marson didn’t even try to hide that he’d been the culprit. A broad smile splitting his pale features, he looked up at Rory.
“You’d better hurry up, Farmboy. You don’t want to be late for the sergeant, do you? And you might want to wipe that stuff off your face.”
Rory wiped a glob of egg off of his cheek and flicked it at Marson, who dodged to the side. It missed.
“You can’t even aim straight. I’d offer to teach you, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing you again.” Slowly, deliberately, Marson turned his back on Rory.
Right then, he wanted nothing more than to knock out a few of Marson’s teeth, consequences be damned. But he knew he couldn’t be late for Clancy. He returned his tray, check to make sure he had no food on his uniform, and headed out the door. As he headed for the admin building, Marson’s words came back to him.
“I won’t be seeing you again.”
What was that supposed to mean? Probably Marson trying to wind him up. He had a gift for getting into Rory’s head.
“You’re never going to make it as a marine if you can’t even deal with an idiot like Marson,” he muttered. What was it with Marson, anyway? Rory had racked his brain and he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to cause his fellow recruit to hate him. He’d stood up to Marson’s bullying, of course, and tried to give as good as he got. Once the cycle had begun, though, there was little chance of turning back. But as for what caused it at the outset, he honestly couldn’t concoct a scenario in his mind in which he was to blame. Maybe it was the farmer thing. Marson hailed from Borlan, the capital of Artusa and one of the largest cities on Hyperion, and never missed a chance to make a crack about Rory’s upbringing. But Marson was hardly the only recruit to give Rory a hard time about that. Turning the screws on one another was common practice, a way of bonding. With Marson, it was something deeper, intensely personal.
The admin building loomed up ahead and Rory felt his breakfast turn to concrete in his stomach. A visit to Clancy was never a good thing. Rory had been there a handful of times for administrative correction, but he’d never been called out of breakfast. It was morning; he hadn’t even had the chance to screw up yet.
So distracted was he that he almost didn’t manage to hit the deck in time when the side of the building erupted in flames.
Chapter 13
Military Transport
En route to Thetis
Lina jerked awake and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a moment to remember she was inside a military transport on the way to Thetis. Her head was heavy, her eyes burned, and she felt a strange pressure against her chest. She reached up and felt the straps that held her in place. No artificial gravity on this ship. All this travel was messing with her mind. She was always tired, her wits dull.
“You’re awake? Wish I could fall asleep.” Across the aisle from her, Val made a face. “I don’t understand why people say they love space travel. There is absolutely nothing to do, nothing to see. It’s just a bunch of...” She held out her hands, palms up.
“Let me guess. A bunch of nothing,” Lina said.
“Exactly.” Val let out a long rush of breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Do you think they have drink service on this thing?”
“It’s a military transport, so I doubt it. But I think Carlos said something about a dispensary in the back next to the ‘head.’”
“Wonderful. That’s exactly where I want my food and drink kept.” Val stretched and let out a low groan. “How much longer?”
“A few hours,” Lina said, checking her watch. “You’ll survive.”
“You know Grandfather did this on purpose. He thinks we’re spoiled.”
“We are spoiled.” Val took out her tablet and began browsing news updates. A headline immediately caught her eye.
Explosion at Camp Maddux
One marine was killed and two others injured yesterday when an explosion rocked the Administration Building at Camp Maddux, a training station for the Imperial Marine Corps. The bombing occurred mere hours after an official visit from Catalina and Valeria Navarre, the two eldest grandchildren of Emperor Solis Navarre. Officials declined to speculate as to whether the women nicknamed the Empire Twins were the target of the bomber, nor if Memnon activity is suspected.
She read on, her stomach twisting in knots. The article was irresponsibly written in her opinion—long on speculation and short on facts. It cited several political leaders who, of course, blamed the tragedy on Memnons and called for extreme measures to combat the supposed threat. Her grandfather was quoted as well. The emperor reminded everyone that no investigation had been conducted and that blaming the tragedy on any group at this stage was premature.
Predictably, the emperor’s position did not go over well with the general populace. Lina read a column devoted to comments from average citizens, and they were running two-to-one against the emperor’s stance. Other editorials included pieces by a leading member of the Talia family, among the Navarre’s most outspoken critics among the Auroran nobility. Another piece, carefully written so as to urge support for the emperor while sprinkling in subtle criticism of his leadership, was penned by an Artusan noble named Jude Vatcher.
Lina frowned. Vatcher? That was Simon’s surname. And then she remembered the snatches of hushed conversation she’d overheard between Val and Simon when the two had sequestered themselves in the arms locker.
“I’m not sure I can do it.”
“I know it will be difficult, but it’s for me.”
What had Simon wanted Val to do? His family had an agenda, and the bombing of a military base was a blow to the rule of the imperial family. Could Val possibly do something like that? It was difficult to say what her sister was capable of, especially if she thought she was doing it for love. Not to mention her long history of going out of the way to distance herself from and embarrass h
er own family. But a bombing? Murder?
“Val, when you and Simon were alone yesterday, you told him there was something you didn’t think you could do. What was it?” She kicked herself for blurting out the question, rather than approaching it with some subtlety, but it was too late now.
Val blanched. “Nothing, he just,” she stammered, “just wanted me to...” She was speaking slowly, obviously trying to come up with an answer. Lina could see the deception in Val’s eyes. “He wanted me to sneak away with him. Not forever; just to spend some time together. He promised to take me to Thetis on his ship. I told him I didn’t think I could do it.”
“Wow!” Lina pretended to believe the lie. “Are you two serious?”
“Not really.” Val’s eyes flitted to the side, indicating deception. “We’re just having fun together.”
Lina hoped the smile she forced was more believable than her sister’s facade. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect any more from you. You always did like your fun.”
Val visibly relaxed. “I’m heir to a crown I’ll never inherit. What else do I have to do?” She unhooked her straps and floated out of her seat. “I’m going to get a drink.” Gripping the seat backs, she began working her way toward the back of the cabin.
“I wouldn’t take too long if I were you. You don’t want to be unstrapped when we start decelerating.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Lina didn’t stay gone long. She returned minutes later, hauling herself through the zero-gravity cabin with reckless abandon. Her eyes flared, mouth twisted in a snarl.
“You bitch!” she shouted.
“What?” Val stared as her sister scrabbled along the ceiling like a drunken spider, banging from side to side, unable, in her anger to right herself or maintain a steady course.
“What is wrong with you?”
Hissing like an angry cat, Val tensed and then sprang, trying to direct herself toward her sister.
Lina knew what was coming and wasn’t about to be caught strapped in place when it happened. She freed herself and rose from her seat just as Val crashed into her. Instinctively, Lina shoved her away, the force of the push sending her flying in the opposite direction. She slammed into the side of the transport, then felt a sharp pain at the top of her head. Val had taken hold of Lina’s hair and managed to tear a handful out as she flew across the cabin and struck the side of a chair.
“Marion and Carlos told me about the bombing!” Val shrieked. “And you’re accusing me? Trying to discredit me?”
Lina was beyond words. She bent her knees, braced her feet against the cabin wall, and kicked out, like a diver plunging into a swimming pool. She shot like a missile across the intervening space. Lina scarcely had time to put up her hands in a defensive posture before Val crashed into her.
In an instant they were a cursing, punching, kicking, scratching ball of fury. Lina felt Val’s nails dig into the back of her neck, dragging scorching lines of fire into her flesh. Lina pushed her away, creating some distance between them, and managed to drive an elbow into Val’s cheek. Val tried to claw at Lina’s eyes, but only managed to tear out a handful of hair.
“You always did fight like a girl,” Lina grunted. Drawing her head back, she drove it forward, her forehead cracking Val across the bridge of the nose. Val let out a shrill cry and tried to bite Lina’s face. Before they could do more damage to one another, powerful hands seized them and pulled them apart.
“We need to get you in your seats, Highnesses,” Carlos said calmly. “We’ll begin deceleration soon and it would be dangerous for you to be floating around in zero-g when we do.”
“You keep that bitch away from me! I will tear her apart!” Val’s shrieks grew higher in pitch as Marion pulled her away. Soon only dogs would be able to hear her.
“I’ll take her to the back cabin,” Marion said to Carlos. “You can stay in here.”
“Good idea,” Carlos said, firmly guiding Lina back toward her seat.
For a moment, Lina considered ordering him to release her so she could take another swing at her sister, but common sense took hold. They were representative of the imperial family and they were going to show up on Thetis looking like a pair of academy girls after a drunken catfight.
“You and I are finished!” Val cried as she and Marion drifted toward the cabin door. Blood flowed from her nose, drops floating through the cabin. “You’ve made the worst enemy you could ever imagine.” Marion towed her into the adjoining cabin and closed the door, muffling her screams.
“That’s going to be fun to clean up,” Carlos said, pointing at a stray drop of crimson as it drifted by. “You must have hit her hard.”
“It was a head butt.” Sighing, Lina permitted Carlos to strap her into the seat. Her lower lip was puffy, she tasted coppery blood in her mouth, and her scalp stung where she’d lost a bit of hair. Aside from that she felt no worse for the wear.
“I think that’s yours,” Carlos said, pointing to a black strand that slowly snaked its way through the cabin. “Want me to catch it for you?”
“You’re an ass sometimes, you know that?”
“Yes, Highness. But it did make you smile.”
“Did not.”
“It was a little one, but I saw it.” Carlos moved to the seat Lina had occupied earlier and buckled himself in. “Don’t worry about your sister. The two of you fight all the time. She always comes around.”
“I’m sure she will.” But privately, Lina had her doubts. Something was different about Val. For the first time, Lina was tempted to believe her sister’s angry proclamations. Perhaps she had, indeed, made a dangerous enemy.
Chapter 14
Camp Maddux
Hyperion
Rory winced as the doc removed his bandages. Pain scorched his skin as the man in the white coat dabbed his injuries with a foul-smelling salve that burned his olfactory senses. He’d managed to avoid the worst of the flying debris from the explosion in the admin building, but still had several cuts, burns, and bruises to show for it. He’d been laid up in sick bay for three days—about two days longer than he felt strictly necessary, but the doctors would not release him until they were sure he was fully ready to return to duty.
“This should do the trick,” the doc said, continuing to apply the ointment. “Everything is healing nicely.”
“It still hurts a little, sir, but nothing this recruit can’t deal with.”
“Drink this.” The doc handed him a small cup filled with an impossibly blue liquid. He downed it in one gulp, the flavor minty. It burned on the way down, filling him with warmth. It reminded him of the time he’d stolen a bottle of his dad’s schnapps. The thought of his dad made him crave a stiff drink.
“You should be feeling a difference in your level of pain any minute now.” The doc stood back and smiled. “Feel anything?”
Rory frowned. He did feel something. The burning sensation had been replaced by a cool tingling, like snow falling on his bare skin. He couldn’t see the wounds on his face, of course, but he looked down at his forearm. The half-healed cut that had been there before was now a pink line.
“You did all that in just a few seconds, sir?” he asked. He winced internally at having called the doc “you.” What was the sick bay protocol, anyway? It had to be the same as anywhere else in the camp.
The doc didn’t seem to notice. He shook his head. “The process has been going on for days. This is just the final treatment.” He tapped on his tablet and read silently for a few moments. “You’ll be coming off the binnacle list today. Back to training for you, recruit.”
“How soon, sir?” Rory asked. He couldn’t believe he was eager to get back to training, but it beat lying in this bed all day doing nothing.
“In an hour. Someone wants to speak with you first.” With that, the doctor turned and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. Moments later, Sergeant Trent walked in.
Not sure what to do, Rory made to get up out of bed, thinking he should stand and s
alute.
“Stay where you are, recruit,” Trent ordered.
“Aye, sir.”
Sergeant Trent stood with her hands folded behind her back. She fixed Rory with a long, probing look. A protracted silence hung between them, long enough for Rory to wonder if there was something he was supposed to say, some ritual to complete. Finally, Trent cleared her throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Quite well, sir. This recruit is ready to get back to work.” He didn’t know if that was the correct answer because Trent turned, walked to the window, and stared out, not speaking. “If I may ask, how is Sergeant Clancy, sir?” Rory asked.
“A few of his broken bones are still on the mend and he’s now on the list for an enhanced eye to go with his cyber arm.”
Rory winced. He had heard that the senior instructor had been injured but had been given no more information than that.
Trent finally turned to face Rory again. “Given that the senior drill instructor already has an enhancement, many wonder if he’s a Memnon.” She stared at him as if trying to gauge his reaction.
“This recruit doubts anyone could make that mistake, sir,” Rory said.
“So you know how to identify a Memnon?”
“No, sir. This recruit only meant that the sergeant has got to be above reproach, doesn’t he, sir?”
“No one is above reproach. Not anymore.” Trent came a few steps closer. “Do you know what treason is?”
“Sir?” Rory had no idea where Trent was going with this line of questioning. He’d been a victim of the bombing just like everyone else. Could he possibly be a suspect?
“It’s a simple question. Do you know what treason is?” She spoke the words slowly, deliberately, as if trying to communicate with someone feeble-minded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware that discussing the overthrow of the government could be construed an act of treason?”